


Pints

by LotteLenya



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Bars and Pubs, Bullying, Drinking, Drunken Shenanigans, Fights, First Kiss, Friends With Benefits, Friendship/Love, Humor, Light Bondage, M/M, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 15:33:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotteLenya/pseuds/LotteLenya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t like it here,” he said through bared teeth.</p>
<p>“Yes, thank you, Sherlock, I heard you the first three times. Will you, just –“ John plucked Sherlock’s fingers from his coat sleeve, “Man up.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At the Pub

**Author's Note:**

> No beta or britpick, all errors are my own. Rated E for later chapters. Thanks for reading.

“I don’t like it here,” he said through bared teeth.

“Yes, thank you, Sherlock, I heard you the first three times. Will you, just –“ John plucked Sherlock’s fingers from his coat sleeve, “Man up.”

“That phrase is absurd. I’m as man as I can get,” Sherlock spat. 

“Oi! Mate!” John spotted Lestrade and waved him over to their corner of the bar.

Lestrade made his way through the crowd and gave John a hand shake and a hearty hug.

“Sherlock,” Lestrade said amiably.

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively and took another swig of his drink. 

“Should I even ask?” Lestrade shouted over the music. John shook his head.

Sherlock continued to sulk and drink, and bemoan his decision to join John and Lestrade for their monthly meet up. It was all so pedestrian. Drinking ale in a crowded bar on the first Friday of the month hollering at whatever match as on the big screen. But then again, without John in the flat it was awful boring, as much as Sherlock hated to admit to it. 

“Sherlock!” John shouted into Sherlock’s ear, “Tell Lestrade about Mrs. Hudson’s yarn!”

Sherlock sighed, but engaged no less, leaning across the bar to speak into Lestrade’s ear, his breath sending an unbidden shiver down Lestrade’s spine. 

“I borrowed a roll of her good yarn for an experiment and she read me the riot act, so I had some extra rolls delivered on Monday.”

“There were dozens upon dozens of rolls of yarn flooding her apartment! You should have heard her shriek!” John was laughing, which Sherlock found pleasing, and so allowed himself a smile in return. 

“She has already knit me four scarves,” Sherlock added and Lestrade and John laughed heartily. 

This could be worse, Sherlock supposed as the three chatted easily after that and enjoyed several more pints, until a young and beautiful barfly latched onto John’s side and whispered god knows what into his ear. Sherlock watched over the lip of his glass as John’s eyes turned dark and his smile sly. He tried to read John’s lips as he teased the petite woman playfully. 

“Jealous?” Lestrade prodded Sherlock in the side. 

Sherlock jumped like he had been shocked at the contact, “No, of course not, why? No. Shut up.”

Lestrade chuckled, “Stop glaring at him, then, weirdo.”

Sherlock blushed lightly against his will, he blamed the beer. He was shameless, this shouldn’t bother him. Lestrade, to Sherlock’s grave disappointment, noticed. 

“You’ve gone red as a tomato! Seriously? Wish I had a camera,” Lestrade said with another friendly nudge.

Sherlock jumped again, the beer was obviously increasing Lestrade’s inclination to make physical contact with others. Pedestrian, Sherlock thought, as he actively resisted the urge to grab John and pull him away from the waif that was leaning against him. Another scan and Sherlock at least had a real reason to despise the woman.

“She’s got a boyfriend. He’s here in fact,” Sherlock spat at Lestrade who mimed that he couldn’t hear him. Sherlock leaned over the bar quickly.

“Detective Inspector, I want a shot,” Sherlock said with his lips nearly touching Lestrade’s ear again. 

Lestrade shivered, Sherlock had to know what he was doing, and rubbed his ear before lowering his eyelids playfully, mockingly.

“Just buy us some shots. Yes? We will get drunk and flirt, like respectable men,” Sherlock commanded as Lestrade turned back to the bar with a grin. 

Sherlock turned back to monitor his flatmate and had a moment’s panic when he didn’t spot him. He quickly elbowed through the crowd until he noticed John holding his hands up innocently and looking misleadingly calm. His head was shaking as he spoke, but Sherlock couldn’t hear him. He was clearly trying to placate that broad shouldered, fierce looking man looming over his small form. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Sherlock said casually sliding his long arm around John’s waist, “But it’s your turn to buy.”

John looked momentarily startled and his face flushed red faster than should have been possible. The angry, looming man followed Sherlock’s fingers with his eyes as he tucked them into the front pocket of John’s jeans, to an impressively miniscule flinch from John. 

“Right,” the man said with a huff and turned to leave. He almost looked disappointed that he wasn’t going to be justified in kicking John’s arse. Sherlock supposed he was just frustrated because his flatmate was kicking him out and he’d been looking for a new place all week. Plus the girlfriend was cheating on him, anyway, just not with John. 

Before John could argue Sherlock led him back to Lestrade with a possessive hand on his lower back while speaking into his ear, “You’re the one who forced me out of Baker Street, and you are therefore not allowed to get yourself killed by some oaf over a useless little woman.”

John was snickering as he got pushed square into Lestrade’s chest. Lestrade let out an “ooph!” and then drunkenly wrapped his arms around John’s shoulders, “You’re back!” he exclaimed. 

“I’m back,” John said with a hand on either side of Greg’s smiling face. 

Somehow, impossibly, this friendly exchange made Sherlock feel an even stronger wave of not-jealousy. He unconsciously puffed his chest and with a forefinger looped through John’s belt hole he tugged the smaller man back towards him. 

“Ho!” John stumbled back against Sherlock and looked up at him over his shoulder with mischievous eyes, “Oi? Stop pushing me around, ya wanker, I can make my own decisions.”

“Oh, yes, and if I left you to make your own decisions tonight you’d first have your arse kicked by that ogre and then buggered by The Yard!” Sherlock spat out, still with a hook in John’s trousers. 

John stared up at him, expression blank for a long beat, before breaking out into hysterical laughter, joined immediately by Lestrade who handed John and Sherlock each a shot of dark liquor. 

“You were right, we should bring him out with us more often,” Lestrade offered before they knocked glasses and downed their shots. 

“Right, Sherlock,” John clarified with a cough, “You must know I don’t need your help in a fight. I am a soldier, lest you forget.”

Sherlock only scoffed and rolled his eyes as he set his shot glass stiffly down on the bar, “You most certainly need me.”

“Hey, boys, no fighting, police here, right?” Lestrade offered with a half hearted salute. 

“The pride of The Yard, everybody!” Sherlock shouted gesturing drunkenly at Lestrade. 

“All right you two, I think we should bring this party back to Baker Street.”


	2. Say Uncle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, good, we’re drunk and taking our metaphorical cocks out for measurement."

John bumped bodily into Sherlock and then back against Lestrade, poorly compensating for his inadequate balance and yet trying to remain responsible.

“Yes, Doctor, let’s,” Sherlock absently had put his hands on John’s hips to steady him, much to Lestrade’s amusement. 

The three men pushed there way gingerly through the crowd until they made it out into the fresh air. Sobering at least slightly at the chill, they walked clumsily back towards their flat.

“Sherlock, have we got anything at the flat?” John asked. 

“Yes, Mycroft gave us a bottle for Christmas. Remember? You wouldn’t let me smash it,” Sherlock offered.

John chuckled and Lestrade tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and almost face planted. Sherlock rolled his eyes as he continued his mostly graceful, drunken walk. John jumped forward and hooked Lestrade’s arm over his shoulder, wrapping his own around Greg’s ribs with a friendly pat.  
Inexplicably Sherlock’s heart sank. He wanted John’s hand on his ribs, he wanted John’s care focused on him. 

They hadn’t been far from Baker Street and they arrived quickly, Sherlock letting them all in and biting back the frustration and jealousy as fiercely as he could. Lestrade was unceremoniously dumped on the couch as John stretched dramatically and Sherlock located the bourbon.  
John went about clumsily removing his jumper and kicking off his shoes. Lestrade had wriggled out of his jacket and kicked his shoes off as well. Sherlock still wore his coat, buttoned wrong.

“Take off your coat and stay awhile, eh?” John offered as he got some glasses down. 

“Sherlock, what is this?” Lestrade was holding what looked like an old case file. 

Sherlock didn’t need to see what Lestrade was holding to know what Lestrade was holding. “I just borrowed it for research, you wouldn’t have even noticed it was gone if we hadn’t come back here. The case has been closed for 6 years,” Sherlock said as he approached the Detective Inspector and handed him a glass.

Lestrade looked furious. He spoke through grit teeth, “I ought to kick your arse, Sherlock, seriously. You can’t do stuff like this!”

“I can and I do,” he said petulantly, and added as an afterthought, “And you are not capable of kicking my arse, metaphorically or otherwise.”

John laughed as he approached, flopping down on the couch next to Lestrade. 

“I’ll have you know that I am more than capable of dishing out a beating, you lanky twat.”

“Oh, good, we’re drunk and taking our metaphorical cocks out for measurement,” Sherlock said throwing his arms up to raucous laughter from Lestrade and John. 

“My money is on Greg,” John said wiping tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes. 

Now it was Sherlock’s turn to look outraged. He stood in a flurry and clumsily shed his coat. 

“Well then, let’s have at it,” Sherlock rolled up his shirt sleeves with care.

“Sherlock, I’m not going to –“ Greg was cut off when Sherlock quickly stepped forward and smacked him on the side of the head. 

“Son of a-“ Greg stood quickly and held his fists up.

“You’re both mad. Don’t hurt each other, I’m off duty,” John said with a chuckle. 

“You’ve got winner,” Greg pointed at him and Sherlock smacked him again. 

“You complete twat!”

Greg steadied himself with a deep breath and a surprising degree of focus for the amount of alcohol coursing through his system. They circled each other for a moment, before Greg moved quickly and swept his leg in front of Sherlock with a hand on his back. Sherlock went face down into the carpet with a thud and before he could react Greg had his hand behind his upper back and a knee in his lower back. Sherlock growled weakly, the air knocked clean out of his chest.

“Arse, sufficiently, kicked,” he said triumphantly leaning closer to Sherlock’s ear to add, “You thought I’d try a training move didn’t you? That one is from my personal arsenal.”

“Get off of me, Greg,” Sherlock said shifting quickly to try to reverse their positions to no avail.

“Sure, but first I want to hear you say uncle, Sherlock,” Greg said tightening his grip on Sherlock’s thin wrist.

Sherlock’s whole body tensed and he ground his teeth. His face flushed red as he heard John chuckling from the sofa. He wasn’t going to be able to get out of this, Lestrade had the upper hand, literally, but he wasn’t sure he could degrade himself to such a degree as to cry uncle. 

Greg shifted, brushing his other leg against Sherlock’s side to a violent twitch from the pinned man. 

“Sherlock Holmes, are you ticklish?” John exclaimed with great amusement in his voice. 

“You both know I don’t like being touched. Get off of me,” he tried again. 

John kneeled at his head and bent down to look at Sherlock upside down with a big grin. 

“Don’t touch me, John. I’m not joking,” he tried.

“Just say uncle then,” John offered before running his fingertips across Sherlock’s ribs to a near flail and what could only be described as a whine.

“ENOUGH. Uncle, uncle!"


	3. Lipstick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Now’s your chance, Sherlock,” John offered.
> 
> “For what?”
> 
> “Revenge,” John said.

Lestrade released Sherlock with a triumphant laugh. 

Sherlock sprung to his feet and marched into the kitchen. He could feel the heat radiating from his embarrassment and his shoulder ached weakly. The ghost of John’s fingertips itched at his side.

“Next time we fight sober. You could never pin me if I had all my, my faculties!” he shouted while pouring himself another drink.

“If we were sober we wouldn’t be fighting in the first place!” Lestrade said breathlessly with a laugh. 

Sherlock turned back to see he and John wrestling and taking playful shots at each other. 

“Now’s your chance, Sherlock,” John offered.

“For what?”

“Revenge,” John said before putting Lestrade soundly in a half nelson with one arm up and one behind his back. 

“Lestrade is not ticklish,” Sherlock said with a pout. 

“Somehow I am not surprised you know that, disturbed no less,” Greg said struggling weakly against John. 

“Come on, genius, I’m sure you can come up with something else,” John offered hopefully.

A gleam lit Sherlock’s eyes before he strut into his bedroom and returned with a small shiny black bag. He opened it and pulled out a tube of lipstick.

“Should I even ask why you have lipstick in your bedroom?” John said, biting back the laughter threatening to force a loosened grip on his captor. 

“Disguises, obviously. I hate to be touched and Lestrade hates to be emasculated. Pucker up, beautiful,” Sherlock said with a drunken smirk.

“You’ll pay,” Lestrade growled ominously, “You, too, John.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he said with a smile, adjusting his grip to show that he wasn’t scared of Lestrade and that he was the man in control.

Sherlock took Greg’s chin gently but firmly in his palm before applying a thick rouge to Lestrade’s full lips. Lestrade cringed but tolerated the attention with only a faint blush to his cheeks. 

“It’s quite a good look for you. You can give Sally a run for her money yet,” Sherlock said stepping back with a smile, “Shall I snap a photo for The Yard?”

“Sherlock,” Greg growled at the same time that John released him with a friendly pat on the back. 

“No photos, be nice,” John, always the mediator. 

“I said you’d pay,” Greg warned. 

“You did,” Sherlock agreed with narrowed eyes. 

With a glance at John Greg sprung forward and Sherlock held his hands up defensively, but Greg wasn’t striking out. He gripped Sherlock’s face and planted a firm kiss on his lips. Sherlock stumbled back and caught himself on the table. John sat awe struck. Sherlock’s eyes were wide and his jaw slack when Greg released him – his mouth smudged with the red lipstick and glistening. Greg looked incredibly self satisfied. 

“Your turn, princess,” he said with a turn towards John. 

Greg leapt to the couch and before John could escape, had straddled his legs and planted a messy kiss to those lips. Sherlock still hadn’t moved except to rub the lipstick away with the back of his hand. Greg lingered slightly longer than necessary as John’s lips parted in invitation or gasp of surprise, Greg wasn’t sure. By the time they dragged themselves apart Sherlock was gone.

“Oh, come on,” Greg said, still straddling John, “Don’t tell me that was too far?”

“Certainly not for me, no,” John said with a cheeky grin, “Up you go.”

The two men approached Sherlock’s door and peeked in. Sherlock was sitting at the foot of his bed looking pensive and defeated. They exchanged sheepish glances encouraging the other to speak first. 

“Oi, Sherlock, I’m sorry. I was just winding you up,” Greg said, “I’m a bit drunk.”

Sherlock didn’t acknowledge that he’d so much as heard Greg, so John made an effort as Greg shrugged and took off to the loo.

“I’m coming in you mopey bastard. Cheer up, we’ve had a good night,” he said a bit drunkenly before throwing himself down on Sherlock’s bed.

“For somebody who values privacy so highly you are certainly making yourself comfortable in my room,” Sherlock said quietly with a sideways glance at John.

John sat up on his elbows and glared at Sherlock, “For somebody who doesn’t hesitate to say what’s on his mind, you are being awfully quiet.”

Sherlock said nothing and turned away from John. “Oh, for god’s sake,” John said as he sat himself up and grabbed Sherlock by the scruff of his shirt to drag him farther up the bed. 

“You needn’t manhandle me, John,” Sherlock protested as he scrambled up the bed to avoid being choked on his own collar.

When John had sufficiently manhandled Sherlock into sitting next to him against the headboard, he looked at the younger man and tried to deduce.

“Sherlock, was that the first time you’ve been kissed?” John asked gently.


	4. About Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t hate it when you touch me,” Sherlock said quietly.

A loud scoff erupted from Sherlock.

“Really, John? Come on,” Sherlock said but then continued, “Of course I’ve been kissed before. I only left because of how soundly you seemed to enjoy yourself. I’ve been an intruder all night. I shouldn’t have come to the pub.”

Words escaped John as a series of ridiculous expressions passed across his face. 

“Sherlock, this night has been the most fun I’ve had since we chased that cab across town,” he said sincerely before slinging an arm around his friend and pulling him close to only a slight tensing from Sherlock who opened his mouth to speak.

“I know, I know,” John interrupted, “You don’t like to be touched.”

He started to lift his arm, but Sherlock shifted and trapped it in place, leaning closer to John, who looked curiously at his friend with a grin.

“I don’t hate it when you touch me,” Sherlock said quietly.

“Well, if that isn’t a proclamation of love then what is,” John said shifting so they were closer still. 

“I just don’t like being surprised by touch,” he explained and then added, “And of course I love you. You’re the only person who tolerates me. It certainly doesn’t need to be drunkenly proclaimed.”

John was so stunned by that simple and honest statement that his heart caught in his throat for a moment.

“Come on, John, don’t get weird on me now,” Sherlock offered with a small smile. 

John looked up at him and before he knew what he was doing, leaned forward and planted a kiss on Sherlock’s lips. To his benefit, Sherlock didn’t flinch. He softened and brought his hand to John’s bicep.

“Sorry, sorry, that was-“ John’s anxious apology was silenced as Sherlock smoothly rolled over John and kissed him again, chest to chest. 

John groaned beneath the pressure of those lips and Sherlock’s lean body aligned with his. 

“Are we drunk? Am I dreaming?” John mumbled against Sherlock’s tentative lips. 

Sherlock pulled back, “We haven’t had a drink in an hour and –“ he pinched John’s arm.

“Ow!”

“You’re not dreaming,” Sherlock locked onto John’s eyes for hesitation or disgust, but before he could get a read John had wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders and was giving him a proper snog.

John’s hand ran up Sherlock’s back and he arched like a cat until John’s fingertips scraped up his scalp into that sea of curls. Sherlock, unbidden, ground his hips down against John’s with a surprised growl. John gasped and continued to scrape and tug, enjoying the feeling of a pliant and uncertain detective above him. Sherlock kissed like a mimic, but a good mimic, stealing skills from John as they moved together. He may have been kissed before, but obviously he was a novice. Which was a pleasant surprise to the doctor.

“Sherlock,” John said pushing with both hands on Sherlock’s chest so they could lock eyes.

“Yes, doctor?” he said in a low rumble.

John growled and flipped them over so he was on top of Sherlock and began frantically unbuttoning the younger man’s shirt as he peppered love bites along Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock’s hands had landed gently on John’s hips, as if he wasn’t sure where they were allowed to go. When John popped the button on Sherlock’s pants, the less experienced man flinched. John stopped and looked again into those beautiful eyes beneath him.

“It’s okay, really, I just haven’t…this is….it’s a lot of new data,” Sherlock offered as a blush crept up his cheeks.

“Sherlock, we don’t have to –“

“We do, John, we really do,” he said slipping his hand between John’s legs and brazenly cupping John’s hardened length through his trousers. 

John whimpered and dropped his head onto Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock stroked John’s cock through his trousers and enjoyed the labored breaths he felt against his chest. 

“You can’t,” John huffed, “You can’t keep doing that or I’ll cum in my pants like a schoolboy.”

Sherlock chuckled and the sound resonated through John’s body like he was a violin string. He removed his hand and lay it on John’s back as they engaged in another snogging round, grinding their cocks haphazardly against one another. It was frantic and desperate, and maddeningly, overwhelmingly, good. 

“About time,” came the lackadaisical Lestrade from the doorway.


	5. Pent Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes, fuck,” Sherlock’s eyes were blown wide like he had been drugged by John’s words, “Please tie me down, Doctor Watson.”

“Christ,” Sherlock exclaimed nearly tossing John from atop him, “I forgot you were here.”

“I’m taking your room, John. You kids have fun,” Lestrade says approaching the bed to plant a goodnight kiss to John’s lips and a playful smack to Sherlock’s head. 

Sherlock looks equal parts outraged and confused. John only chuckles and hides his face under the covers. 

“It’s not funny,” Sherlock says, but a smile is forming on his lips as John continues to laugh, “He put his mouth all over your mouth, how am I supposed to –“

John quickly pounces on Sherlock for another deep kiss and to shut him up. 

“I get it,” Sherlock says loudly with his bottom lip still caught between John’s teeth. 

John bites down a little harder before releasing with a sigh, “get what?”

“Ow,” Sherlock says indignantly raising a hand to his lip, “You and Lestrade. You drink once a month and get all your pent up gay energy out on each other.”

The look on John’s face could only be described as that of an exasperated hedgehog. 

“You’re mad, I mean I always knew you were mad, but Sherlock, you’re mad,” John said. 

“Am I wrong?”

“We don’t have pent up…we’re not…we’re just friends! Sometimes friends make out, Sherlock, case in point,” John said feeling a little self conscious now.

“Sorry,” Sherlock says quietly, “I prefer when things are black and white.”

“No you don’t,” John said in disbelief, “You love complicated puzzles, you just get mad when you can’t solve them cleanly.”

Sherlock looked as though he were going to protest, but shut his mouth into a pout.

John laughed, “Shall we talk some more or get on with it?”

He slid his hand slowly up Sherlock’s thigh to a pointed flinch from the younger man, who grabbed John’s wrist firmly, “Still ticklish, remember?”

“Oh, I’ll never forget,” John said with a devilish grin. He flung himself atop Sherlock and pinned his arms above his head quickly, straddling the thin man. 

Sherlock growled in pleasure at being restrained, but squirmed at the thought that John may just use this position to torture him. 

John leaned in close to Sherlock’s ear and said between love bites, “You like this, don’t you? Being held down? Giving up control to me? Shall I tie your hands to the headboards?”

Sherlock bucked violently at that grinding his cock against John’s, but biting his own lip to keep from begging. 

“Ask me, Sherlock. Ask me nicely and I’ll tie you down and touch you like you’ve never been touched,” John growled right into Sherlock’s ear before sucking Sherlock’s neck black and blue. 

“Yes, fuck,” Sherlock’s eyes were blown wide like he had been drugged by John’s words, “Please tie me down, Doctor Watson.”

John gripped Sherlock harder and growled, “Don’t you move.”


End file.
